


When I Haven't Any Yellow, I Use Red

by amateisflower



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Adventure, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Apocalypse, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Childhood Trauma, Cussing, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gore, Heavy Angst, Male-Female Friendship, Mental Anguish, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Apocalypse, Psychological Trauma, Sexual Content, Sexual Humor, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Trauma, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24851914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amateisflower/pseuds/amateisflower
Summary: Before her trauma therapist put a bullet in his own head, he told Harley Winnlow that this new, undead world would suit her. It would finally make her grow up in ways he couldn't achieve with her in decades.She has been pained by childhood memories that lay within her mind like festering boils, but as she's faced with death and perfumed with blood, she doesn't grow up in the way she knows he wanted.
Relationships: Negan (Walking Dead) & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. Black-Eyed Susan

**Author's Note:**

> Ten years ago, I discovered my go-to show. Ten years later, I feel brave enough to write this fanfiction, and I've never felt so dedicated to to one such as this. Publicly sharing my work has always intimidated me, especially in such a large fandom as this one, but I really love my OC, Harley Winnlow (not Quinn, even though I do use the same first name and Margot Robbie as a face-claim) and I want to tell her story. The first quarter of the story takes place just after the fall of the prison, and it calls back to her past (the beginning of the outbreak up until the prison). Her past is told through vignettes triggered by the current experiences she goes through up until she meets Negan. So, this will be a slow burn, but I'd like for you guys to get to know her 🥰 I hope you all will enjoy reading this as much as I do writing it. 🖤

Harley had only killed one with a bullet through their neck. The rest of her ammo had either been buried in the ground, with dry earth spitting up, or had struck the cars with a sharp ping. She was recovering from the flu, and the dosage of adrenaline had worsened her exhaustion. It had made her tremble like a leaf in winter winds, rendering her aim weak. Perhaps, if she had had more control, she could have saved a few more lives of the group at the prison.

However, she didn't know how many survivors there were. She'd left as soon as the throng of walkers started to infest the prison. Now, she followed a gravelly path away from what she and the others had called home; what they'd all considered a seed of hope in which they aimed to grow and sustain for years. Maybe forever.

When the prison had first loomed over Harley, hope intoxicated her, but she'd tried to crush it, to push it down and expose it to reality and kill it off. It seemed too good to be real. Towering fences. Robust walls. Commodious enough for everyone to have their own space. It was a sunrise, a kid's sight of snowfall on a school morning. A beautiful border between a nightmare and a wondrous dream when realization came that all of the monsters, rotting and ever persistent, would become something in the background of this new life. The foreground would be of warm blankets and the pale sunlight of a new day's dawn. Hope.

Now it was gone.

This new world had a favorite hobby. It loved to give and take. Its favorite play to sit back and enjoy was the ungodly pain its groaning, brainless parasites caused. Always the same. A spark of hope flashed up like a life preserver, then the sea of despair would rage again, and it would be gone. Always pain, always despair, and always the same.

Harley didn't know whether to avoid hope or try to cling to it. She didn't know what to do now except try to survive on her own for the first time. Maybe she would run into other survivors along the way. Her and the group managed to survive this long, but they had never encountered anyone like the Governor before, nor had they endured such a barbaric attack. She wanted to believe most were still alive. Rick. Carl. Maggie. Glenn. Daryl...

She had known them and witnessed enough to think they were impervious to death. Now, she wasn't so sure.

The adrenaline had died away, leaving her shaking like a snake's rattle. Her ears and head had developed their own painful heartbeats from the deafening tank and gun rounds. Since she had fled, she held onto her AK-47, now starved of ammo, with a rigor-mortis-like grip. She used it as leverage to climb the steep pathway. She wanted to put distance between her and the overrun prison, but she doubted she could make it far before she would collapse like some ungainly, life-sized doll from exhaustion.

Some of 'em gotta be okay, she thought. The bus left full o' people. She stopped, blinking away splotches of blurriness. She pressed her lips into a thin line as the pain of muscle cramps surfaced. It felt like metal clamps were fastened to her, clenching and un-clenching. Tingly goosebumps rose up along her clammy skin. Heat exhaustion was always the chink in her armor.

Harley peered over the wall of bushes, having a decent view of the prison grounds. The fires were still raging, and their bulky breaths of smoke tarnished the sky. Walkers continued to besiege the prison, cluttering the area like a herd of cows.

How am I gonna do this? Harley thought. I was always with others...never on my own. Her chin wrinkled as she wrestled back tears. Her eyes ping-ponged about the prison, trying to see if anyone was still out there. A hard lump clogged her throat. I'll find you guys...even if it's just one. Dizziness abruptly invaded her and she closed her eyes, wanting it to subside. Ah, gee-whiz, I just wanna rest. But she couldn't stop now. If a curious walker came through, she'd be easy meat. Her legs started to quiver and sweat leaked out from her palms, but she tried to stay steady.

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she started to lean sideways. Just five minutes.

Like a puppet cut from its strings, Harley fell and tumbled over the side of the pathway. She landed on her stomach, and felt a pop in her right wrist. Fucking, fuck me gently with a chainsaw! Grimacing, she rolled over onto her back and cradled her tender wrist. Staring up through the lace-like canopy of the woods, she could see the subtle gray smoke from the prison. Sunlight struggled to breathe through it. At least she was in the shade.

A pleasant smell with a mild hint of anise swiped Harley's attention. She knew that smell. She turned her head and saw that she was lying on a patch of Black-eyed Susans. Tears poked at her eyes. Oh, how she loved these flowers. She reached her left hand out to stroke the petals and noticed that her skin had been stained yellow from them. She rubbed her fingertips together.

Yellow...

_Walking into the institution, she held a mass of yellow flowers within her arms; marigolds, daisies, and Black-eyed Susans. Their combined scents perfumed Harley with musky smells of wet hay, sweet grass, and a tinge of an earthy tone (but more like cow manure). She didn't mind the overwhelming confusion of odors. Her nose was used to unusual stenches. There were all kinds of them in the institution whether it be bodily fluids or medications._

_Harley would make sure to keep the flowers alive longer than last time. Her only chances to go out and pick new ones would be when the staff were distracted making lunch. She'd take a cab out to the nearest public garden (or someone's personal garden), snatch a bunch of flowers, take the cab back, and waltz into her room._

_She smiled to herself as she stroked her array of flowers. Dirt smudged her fingers and the knees of her white scrub pants like charcoal. The staff were bound to be frantically searching for her soon, but they were probably going to be met by an angry cabby ranting about the payment she didn't make. Again. She giggled, her face bunching up with glee. "Dummies."_

_As she returned to her room, she left a light trail of dirt and dandelions. The walls of her room were a glaring sunny color, and the only decorations were dried out flowers she taped up. Interior design wasn't a priority. The whole facility had minimal decorations and "homey" items. It would have been a risk to keep any home-like furnishings in the rooms, so it was left mostly bare._

_Harley gingerly laid the flowers on her bed, leaving her scrub top dyed yellow and blurred with soil._

_"Harley." The male voice behind her prompted her to face the doorway. "You have to stop--" The tech's words shifted into guttural, croaky groans. His lower jaw went slack and he rocked it side to side, the bone cracking._

_Techs. Code teams. She disliked them. They always dragged her away from her cartoons. She furrowed her brow. "Whassamatter with you?"_

_He started toward her, his feet awkwardly dragging against the floor, and reached a rigid hand out to her._

_Bug-eyed, she backed away until she was sitting on her stiff bed. "Hey, chill out, scrap! This ain't funny!" She crawled further back until she met the wall, crushing the flowers and kicking them over the edge._

_The tech kept reaching for her, and_

She woke up.

A walker shuffled toward her, its bony, maggot eaten hands seeking her. For a moment her reaction was delayed, and the walker clambered on top of her. She snatched its wrists, forced them away from her, and delivered a kick to its face. The cartilage of its nose made a crunching sound, and blood poured out like a faucet turned on full blast. From the force of her blow, the walker grunted and stumbled back.

Light-headed, Harley dragged herself over to where the AK-47 lay. She grimaced against the mild pain in her swollen wrist. I ain't no easy meat. Not today! She clasped the weapon with sweaty hands. She propped it up with her uninjured hand and used it to help her stand. As she turned around the walker came for her again, but she swiftly swung the AK-47 and slammed it at the side of the walker's head. Bone crackled, and the walker dropped to the ground.

Harley conjured what strength she had left to ram her foot down on its head. The human skull was soft, parallel to pig skin. Satisfaction bloomed in her, a perfect flower that gave her the perfect feeling; like waking up from the best night's sleep. It numbed her physical discomfort with momentary euphoria. The walker's bashed in head resembled a collapsed cherry pie. When she heard its hoarse groan, she brought down her foot once more for good measure and twisted her heel. "Ya gotta season your meat first," she said, breathless.

She fell back against the incline of the path. She couldn't do that again. If she hadn't woken up in time...Her head drooped as an arctic-like cold blanketed her body. I ain't dyin' today or tomorrow. She had to keep going. She had to find the prison bus.

Harley stamped the buttstock of the AK-47, pulled herself away from the incline, and started walking. Even if she harbored that shred of doubt that she could survive on her own, she had to prove herself otherwise.


	2. Please Eat the Dandelions

The trees were as close knit as the veins of the human body, making their living space claustrophobic. Despite the shade, the summer heat coiled around her body like a great, hot-blooded serpent. She took intervals to rest against trees and seek out edible plants. While sifting through the greenery, she found purslane. Sudden giddiness overwhelmed her and she let out a relieved breath. She gathered their moisture-rich leaves with shaky fingers. The taste was cucumber-crisp and had a tart, almost lemony tang with a peppery kick.

She stashed what she could in her denim shirt pocket and continued on. You're doin' good so far, she thought to herself. But for how much longer...Her eyes dropped to the woodland floor, her feet creating choruses of crackling debris. If the bus kept going and never stopped, I'll be chasin' ghosts. I'll just be...alone. She hugged the AK-47 close, finding comfort in it. But I have been alone before.

_The bare walls of the facility were as boring as a cloudless sky. Not in Dr. Williams's office. Hung from across from his desk were Theodore Gericault's_ Women Laughing _and_ Head of a Guillotined Man. _They alluded a sense of ominous madness. Fitting, for a mental institution. Every time Harley came in for her weekly sessions, her nerves were rubbed raw by the sinister grin of the painted woman and the blank, dead eyes of the decapitated man. She tried not to look at them._

_Sitting with her knees up, she hugged her stuffed Tigger close to her and chewed on her hair. It crunched like sand between her teeth. She detested these sessions of Imaginal Exposure. Her throat tended to close up when it came to talking about what happened to her. She didn't want to. All she wanted to do was watch cartoons, but Dr. Williams had her write down her experience out of session for her to read it aloud._

_"Okay," he said. "Can you read to me what you have written down?"_

_Harley stared at the page in the journal, her eyes bouncing around to significant words; scared, screams, blood, yellow, dad, ran, woods. In some spots, she had pushed her pencil against the page hard enough to poke holes. She didn't mean to._

_"It was dark out, but the walls of our house were always so happy. Yellow. Dad came to the house but he was never supposed to."_

_"How did you feel about him being there?"_

_"I just knew mom didn't want him there. She would get mad just at the mention of him, and when he came I told him he was gonna make her mad. I didn't like her when she got that way."_

_"Why?"_

_"She'd cry and break things...spaz out...hurt the yellow walls." Harley remembered how her mother looked in those moments. When she cried, there was rawness to it. Her face became gnarled and beat red. The flow of tears were as lasting as evergreens, and Harley had never seen something shine more than her mother's eyes with those tears. No diamond or star could match it. Then her mother would say with a voice strained by frustration, "Damn walls! Mocking me!"_

_"And how did that make you feel?" Dr. Williams asked._

_"It scared me, but I learned to go to my room and turn the cartoons up. Sometimes she'd get so tired after her fits and fall asleep on the floor or against the wall."_

_"Okay, take us back to when your father came to the house. What happened?"_

_Harley's eyes flicked back to her journal. "I can remember the fighting. Not what happened leadin' up to it. He and mom screamed and yelled, and then he came toward me..." Her body went lax, the heat abandoning her bones. She was victimized by a trance as the memory played before her. She couldn't remember what her father looked like. His face was blank, like a clean sheet of paper. Pure skin. A mannequin._

_He came toward her. Her mother snagged his arm which prompted him to grab the hammer on the table next to him. He swung it around and struck her in the temple. Her skull made a cracking noise akin to a leaf being crushed, and blood dotted the wall. She fell to the floor at eye level with Harley. Blood drew down her cheek before creeping into her open mouth._

_Clutching her Tigger, Harley stared at her. The look of terror in her mother's eyes stained Harley's vision like sunspots. Her mother tried to say something, but the hammer came down again and again, caving in her skull with wet and crackling sounds. With each raise of the hammer, strings of blood flew at the yellow walls like an artist throwing paint at their canvas. In the end, her head had the appearance of a destroyed red velvet cake. Her body briefly twitched before relaxing._

_The onslaught of tears stung Harley's eyes. "Mom tried t'a stop him, but he bashed in her head with a hammer. Then I ran, and he called after me. He sounded calm. I went out the back door and into the woods."_

_"Do you remember what was going through your head?" Williams asked. "How were you reacting?"_

_"I was scared." Her voice cracked. "I didn't cry. I don't remember crying. All I could think about was if the walls would turn orange. I even believed that what had happened could be undone." Her laugh was as soft and frail as a freshly baked cookie. God, she thought. At four years old I was still a baby in some ways after my mom. Still embarrasses me till this day that I was wetting the bed. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat._

_"Everyone experiences shock in different ways. Not everyone cries," Williams said softly. "That belief you had was normal, a typical reaction of your age at the time, and it was quite hard to shake from you. But you've made it past that. You're making progress, however slow."_

_Harley snorted. "Yeah, twenty-eight years later." She buried her face in the back of her Tigger's head._

_"Like I said, slow. Everyone is different."_

_Twenty-eight years, she thought bitterly. She recalled the days when her sensitivity to the sounds of harsh, whipping winds, thunderstorms, and loud noises was enough to make her cry and linger around her caretakers. I was already around them anyway, she thought. I was too scared to be alone, even if I had my Tigger. She used to nervously suck at her thumb until it was as red as flayed skin and wrinkled as a walnut. Sometimes she wondered how her thumb stayed alive for how much she bothered it. "How long was I in the woods for, again?" she asked._

_"A week. It's a miracle you survived as long as you did at that age. Especially since all you ate were dandelions."_

Using her uninjured wrist, Harley grasped onto the neighboring trees as she made her way down the steep hill. She wasn't about to twist an ankle. Her feet met the concrete of the main road, and looking to her left she saw the prison bus, but it was immobile. You guys better be okay, she thought. "You better be okay," she said through gritted teeth as she jogged over to it.

When she reached it, she slowed to a walk and looked up at the windows dirtied with fingerprints. It was quiet, and she didn't see any movement inside. Maybe they're just hunkering down in there to be safe...waiting for the others, she thought.

A walker suddenly slapped against one of the windows and pawed at her, its fingers squeaking against the glass. She flinched and backed away, heart pounding. Her shoulders sagged as she noticed the mass of undead bodies bunched together in the bus.

If they didn't survive, then who did? And how would she find them?

Harley slung the AK-47 over her shoulder and started walking in an aimless direction toward the woods. She stopped just alongside the road when she noticed a patch of dandelions. She knelt down, the walkers in the bus patting the windows behind her, and picked a few dandelions. She admired their golden appearance, thinking they resembled little suns in her hand. "I'm gonna need you as much as I did last time."


	3. The End of the Fucking World

Just as Harley remembered, the dandelions tasted nutty and pleasingly bitter, like endive. Energy usurped her weak limbs, but the thought of water lingered over her head; cool, fresh stream water.

And when I find it, she thought. I'm jumpin' in. After she would, she didn't have a notion of where to go; how to find anyone. Stay by whatever stream I find for a few hours, and then continue on in whatever direction? I ain't a leader, not even for myself. She pursed her lips.

This rotting world demanded growth, and although she had learned to guillotine her innocence and accept reality, she hasn't grown in the way she felt she needed to. All of her life she depended on others, but now she just had herself, and it would be enough. She was going to make it so.

Along the way of her aimless trek, she foraged wood sorrel, dandelions, and red clovers. Walkers were scarce, but she didn't let herself get comfortable yet. Something always had to happen, and when it did it was often as unforeseen as a snake hidden in foliage.

When she did come across bungling walkers, she chose to preserve her strength and either redirected them by throwing something in the opposite direction or shielded her presence behind a bulky tree. If she had a knife, she would take care of the dim-witted corpses. Beating them down with her gun would be energy depleting, no matter how soft their heads might be, and she didn't want to stunt her recovery.

She came to a road congested with cars and scattered personal items. Mass amounts of old blood stained the concrete, but it looked more like chocolate.

Harley moved toward the nearest car. Its skin was scabbed with rust and plantlife snuck through its wounds like an infection. Wiping away the dirt layering the window to see if a walker was inside. Nothing. She opened the door, the hinges whining in pain, and settled herself in the driver's seat. She sat there for a moment, remembering...

_Choruses of bellowing voices and shrill cries yanked her from sleep. Occasional outbursts in the halls were common, but these noises were different and didn't cease. Harley sat up and pressed her Tigger against her chest, her fingers rigid and digging into his flesh. She moved toward the door and peered out of the small window. A figure clad in black protective gear passed by, and she briefly lowered herself out of sight. When she resurfaced, she saw that the figure had a fistful of a patient's clothing and was shoving them toward a wall where others were lined up; patients, techs, and doctors. Sobbing and whimpering, their faces were as contorted as tree roots with fear._

_A bold, white word on the backs of the black figures hooked Harley's eyes. SWAT team? Her eyebrows squished together._

_They mumbled words she couldn't make out, and opened fire on the line of people. Blood adorned the wall like splatters of spray paint, and stray bullets caused the drywall to cough dust._

_"Jesus Christmas!" Harley dropped down, feeling as though a tiny person was jumping-rope in her stomach. Her throat swelled up from the threat of tears. "Why did they kill them?" she whispered, her voice strained. "Why did they kill them?" All she knew was that she could be next._

_"Check all the rooms."_

_Quick and purposeful footsteps approached the door._

_Trembling, Harley reached a hand up to grab the doorknob. She breathed through her mouth, trying to steady her pattern. Once she felt the person on the other side take hold of the doorknob, she clenched her teeth. Turning the doorknob, she summoned what strength she could and rammed the door into the SWAT member, knocking him off balance._

_He shouted in surprise and Harley bolted out of her room, hunching over as bullets smacked into the walls around her. She rounded the corner and continued down the hall, hastening past a scene of patients lying belly down just outside of the doorways of their rooms. Her shoes picked up the blood from their blown out heads, and she stamped wine red footprints on the white floors behind her._

_Her throat and lungs burned as if she was breathing in dry ice. She risked a glance over her shoulder and yelped when she was caught by a pair of arms._

_"Shh, shh!" Williams covered her mouth, pulling her out of the hall. "It's me."_

_She wrestled free of him. "Criminy, doc. I thought you were one of 'em. They're killing everyone. Why are they doing this?" Red snagged her attention. Blood had soaked through the arm of his shirt. "Hey, you're bleedin'."_

_"I'll explain later." He touched her shoulder and urged her forward. "We need to leave. Now."_

_As he led the way, more bodies littered the path, and they weren't anyone who worked or lived here. Civilians. "Doc, why are they in here?" Harley's eyes lingered on them, noticing the amount of bullets that punctured them like the holes of a honeycomb. Some of their eyes were wide open, but they appeared inhuman._

_"Don't look, just keep moving." He moved toward the back door of the institution and headed out with her into the parking lot. They weaved through the cars, found his, and hurried in. Before they could leave, the swat members burst through the door and opened fire._

_"Get down!" Williams barked._

_Harley shrunk into her seat and threw her arms over her head. Bullets struck the car's body, creating sharp ping noises and poked through the windshield. Some buried themselves in the seats she and Williams sat in._

_The swat team suddenly ceased fire on them and went into a fit of shouts and screams._

_She uncovered her head and stared incredulously as a flock of normal people, impervious to the bullets, grabbed at the suited men and started...biting them; tearing into them as easily as paper._

_"Holy kebab," Harley whispered. Am I dreamin'? She patted her cheek. Sudden coldness hit her core like a bag of ice, and her body prickled with dizziness. She leaned to the driver's seat and passed out._

_When she came to, the night had usurped the day's reign, and trees crowded her view outside of the window. She closed her eyes, but in the darkness she saw those rabid people with flesh between their teeth and their hands gripping the skin of their meal, stretching it as they ripped it away. Her eyes flew open and she sat up and away from the window, her heart hammering at a woodpecker's rate._

_"Hey," Williams glanced at her. He had a sweaty sheen to his corpse-like skin, and his lips were no more than a purple scar below his nose._

_She eyed him, wiping away drool from the corner of her mouth. "You okay, doc?"_

_He didn't meet her eyes. "Open the glove compartment, would you?"_

_She hooked her fingers beneath the latch and popped it open to reveal a pistol sitting inside. What's the doc doin' with a gun? She had never seen one, especially in live action, until today. They sounded deafening in person unlike the soft raps in cartoons, and she imagined staring down the barrel of them was as intimidating as a lion's glare. However, she had always been charmed by the lions on television._

_She reached for the pistol, taken aback by its weight, but she liked the feel of it in her hand. It was like holding an immobile animal; one with immeasurable loyalty, and ready at its owner's will._

_Williams slowed the car to a stop. "Give it to me. Please."_

_Harley drew her eyebrows together, wary. "What for?" Her first thought was that he was going to use it to kill whatever those people had turned into. That would make sense. He wouldn't hurt her. Why would he, and why was that her second thought? I guess it would be better than to be a blood sandwich to whatever those things were._

_"Please, Harley," he urged, holding his hand out. He still could barely look at her._

_Glancing to his hand, she slowly gave it to him._

_"There's a whole new world out there, and even though you didn't know much of the one before, or it of you, this one will want to get personal. But maybe..." He switched the safety on of the gun. "I've always thought that the world before didn't suit you. But...I think this one will. It'll do for you what I couldn't."_

_"What...?" Harley's voice scarcely reached above a whisper._

_He stared at the pistol. "Help you grow up." He folded back the sleeve from his forearm, unveiling a bite mark from a set of human teeth. The teeth had punctured his flesh, and the skin in and around it was flushed pink. "You can't let this happen to you."_

_Her eyes widened. What the fuck?_

_He quickly pushed his sleeve back down. "I've driven you close enough to the safe-zone. Just follow this road until you find cars. The dead are likely to only be in the city. You'll be safe."_

_"I-I don't understand." His form became blurry in her vision._

_He pulled back the hammer of the pistol. "You will."_

_She blinked, hot tears pricking at her eyes._

_"Grab your Tigger. I know you can't drive, but someone will teach you. Just get out of the car, and start walking," he said._

_Wait, she thought. No, no. She didn't want to leave him. She didn't want to be on her own. A ball-sized lump clogged her throat. "I don't know what to do, you gotta tell me what to do besides leavin'. You know I ain't ever been good on my own. You can't leave me. Doc--"_

_"Go!" The harshness of his tone silenced her, and the veins in his neck stood out like swollen scratches._

_Shaking to the pace of a snake's rattle, she hugged her Tigger to her bosom and fumbled for the door handle. Opening it, she left the car. The humidity of the now outlandish world just made it all feel more like...hell. Examining her shadow infested surroundings, she licked her lips, tasting the salt from her lukewarm tears. She looked back at Williams, trying to catch his eyes, but his attention was glued to the road ahead._

_Harley shut the door, wrapping her other arm around her Tigger, and started walking. The woods were quiet, but with the institution having been at the edge of the city, she knew that when her windows were open during the nights the woods were never quiet. No cicadas. No crickets. No rustling of tree branches from squirrels. Just her feet against the road._

_And the single, muffled gunshot behind her._

_She stopped, pressed her lips into a thin line, and closed her eyes. She didn't need to look back to know what he did. Imagination was enough. She opened her eyes, the edges of her vision blurry._

_Just follow the road._

_She kept walking, but some time later the beams supporting her composure snapped and she lowered down to her knees. Her body went as lax and loose as a rubber band, and the onslaught of more tears gnarled her face. Head heavy like a baby doll's, she hunched forward and gasped in a breath and coughed._

_She didn't know how long it was until she calmed down and sat there, mute and staring as if Medusa had turned her to stone. She knew she was supposed to keep going until she reached the safe-zone, but she didn't want to move. The world she never knew was changing, shifting into something that Williams said would suit her. How? He said she would understand. When? Cliffhangers ain't fair, doc, she thought somberly. None of this is._

_A low growl akin to an alligator approached her, and in the light that washed over her, her shadow looked like a spot in dough removed by a cookie cutter. She blinked, willing herself back to reality, and faced the light. The motorcycle's light momentarily blinded her until two male forms stepped in front of its glaring gaze._

_One of them had a crossbow._

_"Hey there, little missy," the other said in a gravelly voice._

_Harley stood up, eyeing the crossbow and its holder._

_"You know it ain't safe to be out here alone."_

_She held her hand up to shield her eyes from what light peeked over their shoulders. "Yeah...I know. I don't plan on being a choice from the dollar menu any time soon." Ain't no meat here to be had, she thought. "That's why I'm goin' to the safe-zone. Is that where you guys are headed?"_

_"Sure are."_

_Her stomach fluttered. "Can you take me with you?" She tangled her fingers together and held them up in a pleading gesture. "Please, pretty in pink please?" She had to take this chance before it flinched out of her grasp, and she would feel safer with more people; the kind that didn't want to munch on her. "I'll owe you."_

_The edge of his mouth quirked up. "Yes you will." His eyes explored her, but she thought nothing of it._

_The man next to him averted his gaze and gave a slight, disapproving shake of his head._

_"What's your name, pretty thing?"_

_"Harley."_

_"I'm Merle and this here is my little brother, Daryl." He lifted his chin, gesturing to her outfit. "By the looks of those scrubs, you must be a nurse."_

_"Mental patient, actually."_

_Merle furrowed his brow. "Well twist my left nut. Were you the one that blew out that poor bastard's melon in the car back there?"_

_Gazing at her from below his lashes, Daryl gave Harley a quick once-over, twisting his jaw._

_"Oh that guy? Yeah, he was my therapist." She dismissed Merle with the wave of her hand. "He shot himself after he showed teeth marks on his arm."_

_"Well ain't that a damn shame. Smart, though. A bite turns ya."_

_"I guess." She may have simply dismissed Williams's death, but she felt the lump again in her throat. She wanted to remember how he was before all of this happened, but she knew that the most prominent way he'd stay in her memory was the way he left. Even though she didn't look back after the gunshot, her vision was still stained with how her imagination filled it in. What are you feelin' right now? She asked herself, touching back to her sessions with Williams. I'm scared shitless and confused. I'd do anything to get by right now, even if it means goin' with a couple o' guys I don't know to the safe-zone. I just wanna be safe, and boy am I hungry. I'm gonna miss waffle Wednesdays._

_"Why don't you say we get this show on the road, then," Merle said, sounding unsure._

_She gave Merle a single nod and retrieved her Tigger from the ground._

_Merle switched off the motorcycle's cyclops eye and began to push it with Daryl keeping pace with him. They joined Harley, and upon noticing her stuffed animal, Merle asked, "What's with the toy? Ain't you a little old to be carrying that rag of a thing around?"_

_She pouted. Tig ain't a rag...respect your seniors, why dontcha? Age had darkened his richly hued fur and robbed him of being soft to touch, but she had taken more care of him than she did to any flowers she had. "He makes me feel safe."_

_"You're gonna need a little more than that to feel safe."_

_Silence settled over her like a heavy blanket. She didn't want to think about that right now._

_"An' what's with the accent?" Merle asked. "You from Brooklyn or somethin'?"_

_"Nah." Harley grinned, grateful for the subject change. "I just decided to pick up the accent 'cuz I thought it'd be fun, and it just stuck with me."_

_He chuckled. "You certainly are an interesting one, honey."_

_Her eyes sought out Daryl, admiring the way the moonlight accented the gentle curves of muscle in his arms. She also noticed the distant look in his eyes. "What about you, Robin Hood?" She turned bubbly. "You've been a little shy."_

_"Little brother gets nervous around the pretty ones." She heard the smile in Merle's voice._

_Daryl shot him a glare. "Shut up," he muttered._

_Harley smiled ear to ear. The quiet ones are always fun to poke at._

_The city was suddenly napalmed behind them._

Harley leaned across the seats to reach the glove compartment. She popped it open and rummaged through papers until finding a switchblade. She climbed into the backseat and laid down. Summoning the blade open, she lightly traced her finger along the edge. "You're a little virgin blade aren't ya?" She smiled. "Not for long, little friend."

Retracting the blade, she rested it on her chest and made herself comfortable to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys are enjoying this so far as much as I am! I'm working on the fourth chapter, but the progress is a little delayed due to me going back to work after being quarantined!


	4. An Arrow and Bambi's Mom

Having slept well into the next day, Harley awoke before the sun could bake her like an ant on cement in the car. She sluggishly sat up, grimacing against the soreness in her neck and shoulder. Her head began to develop its own heartbeat. She drew lazy circles on the back of her neck with her fingers. The muscles in her neck felt as tight as a rope. Meeting her own eyes in the rear view mirror, she noticed how unkempt her platinum hair was in its low pigtails, but didn’t care to fix it.

Discarding the empty AK-47, she left the car and the sunlight assaulted her sensitive eyes, amping up her headache. She began to nose around the neighboring vehicles until she found a rucksack with a couple canned peaches and an empty water bottle for when she’d find a stream. If only one of these hoopties could start up, she thought. Batteries are all dead.

Slinging the small rucksack over her shoulders, she headed back into the woods, grateful that the trees’ canopies smothered most of the sunlight. She pinched the skin between her eyes to try and quell the persistent headache, but to little avail.

Some time later, she stopped to gather clovers and wood sorrel. When she heard the hoarse groan of a walker to her right, she narrowed her eyes and stood up to face it. A string of mushrooms had sprouted from its cheek and wrapped around its neck like tumors.

“Ruaaahh!” she mocked. It reached out for her. She ducked and grasped onto its arm and the back of its shirt collar and rammed it head first into the trunk of a tree. The sound was akin to taking a hammer to a mass of chips; a satisfying sound. Wine red blood splotched the bark, and the memory, the nightmare, of her mother’s death intruded her vision.  
She could smell the kitchen’s trash can, full of rotten food; musty and earthy, similar to an old basement. It mixed with the rusted iron aroma of her mother’s blood. Her heart beat to a woodpecker’s pace, and her eyes dropped to the dead walker. No, it was her mother. Her head resembled a blown up egg from a microwave.

The heat abandoned Harley’s body. “Momma?” she whispered, her voice strained from the lump in her throat. No, no, she’s not here. It’s not real. Harley closed her eyes and hugged herself, seeking comfort from her Tigger, but she forgot she had lost him. She bunched up her shirt in her hands. How many times do I have to see this? I can’t -- I don’t want to! She drew her hands up, formed fists, and knocked at the sides of her head. Pain awakened in her sprained wrist like a heated piece of coal, and her headache grew unbearable.

Clammy, she lowered herself to the woodland floor, covering her eyes. She stared into the darkness and begged for the flashback to leave until the word “please” sounded foreign to her.

When the flashback blinked out of existence, Harley had little relief. How long until the next one? She could take physical pain, and even preferred it over mental suffering. Mental anguish was the moth that left as many holes as there are in a chain link fence in the thin fabric of her sanity. Her physical wounds could mend, but she believed the ones her mind had couldn’t. They haven’t so far, so how could they?

She tried to dial down her thoughts and find something pleasant to listen to; wind through the trees or birdsong, but what she heard was something splashing off to her right. Water. She peeked through her fingers to assure herself that her mother was no longer there. It was only the dead walker. Harley released a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. 

Letting her hands down, she stood and moved in the direction of the splashing until she came to a steep incline leading to a natural pond. The water was as clear as a bubble. She could see patches of moss on the pond floor.

Carefully, she descended the incline. The heels of her boots dug wounds into the grassy flesh of the hill, and upon meeting stable ground, she went to kneel at the edge of the water and retrieve the empty bottle from her bag. Cap off, she began filling it. The water flowed in as smoothly as blood did out of a wound. Her eyes wandered, spotting old bird prints and then a set of hoof imprints near her. They were fresh. She looked up and across the pond stood a deer.

_“Can I come?” Harley pleaded._

_“No,” Daryl said flatly. He rose from the fallen tree trunk, averting his gaze from her, and sheathed the sizable knife he had been sharpening._

_“Please?”_

_“I said no.” He slung his crossbow over his shoulder._

_“But I wanna help the group more. It’s great I know how to be a housewife with cleanin’ clothes, but I can do more.”_

_Shane strutted over to them. “Come on, Dixon.” He sounded like an exasperated parent. “Just take her with you. She wants to help out, so let ‘er.” He gripped his hips, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Might make your job easier later on.” His eyebrows lifted._

_Daryl glanced at him from beneath his lashes and started walking._

_Is he like this with everyone? Or did I do somethin’? Harley’s head fell back in defeat. Gee-blimin’-whiz, why is understandin’ people so hard? She looked at Shane, seeking guidance._

_He gestured with his head in Daryl’s direction for the go-ahead._

_She grabbed her bag and jogged after him. When she had discarded her patient outfit for jeans, boots, and a denim shirt, her movements felt pinched and limited. She hadn’t worn tight clothing before. Whenever she undressed, an unknown fear of getting stuck appeared out of nowhere like a bolt of lightning. She wondered if that was how snakes felt shedding their skin. She would have preferred to stay in her loose-fitting scrubs if not for Shane suggesting she wear something “more appropriate” for the benefit of the others. She didn’t understand what he meant, but did as he said. She would do what she needed to stay in the group._

_Matching Daryl’s pace, she secured her bag on her shoulders and gripped the straps for balance. “Why are you so grumpy all the time?”  
“Your constant yappin’ doesn’t help.”_

_“Sorry.” She grimaced. “I just like talkin’ to people, like Merle.” She perked up. “He’s fun to talk to.”_

_Daryl scoffed._

_“What?”_

_“He ain’t fun,” he said. “He’s a jackass.”_

_The side of her mouth rose. “He did call Tig a rag…”_

_“Not like that.”_

_She waited for him to elaborate, but pouted when silence spoke for him. Merle is mean to T-Dog. Keeps callin’ him that...name. Harley furrowed her brow, her grip stiffening on the bag straps. I like T. He doesn’t deserve what he’s gettin’ from Merle. She pressed her lips into a thin line. Yeah, what a jackass._

_Wind jostled the leaves, mimicking the sound of a waterfall, and tree branches creaked like joints diseased with arthritis. Birdsong was nonexistent. It’s like they know what’s happenin’ with the world. Harley’s eyes ping-ponged from branch to branch. An’ they flew as south as they could. If the south is safe._

_Daryl unslung his crossbow and prepared it with an arrow._

_“So,” Harley said. “What are we lookin’ for? Squirrels?”_

_“They’d be good, but not enough to feed a whole damn camp. Deer is where it’s at.”_

_Ah, shucks. Her face fell. We have to orphan Bambi? “How do we find one?”_

_“Well.” Daryl rested the crossbow’s stock on his shoulder, the stirrup pointing at the sky. “You gotta look at the ground for fresh scratching or tracks.” He indicated to the ground with his index finger. “Once you find those, you don’t wanna follow too slow.”_

_Her eyebrows squished together. “All I see is grass and twigs--ohh, and a pretty rock!” She swiped the rock up. Its black and white pattern was reminiscent of a Mudi dog’s fur. I shoulda snatched up that book of all the dog breeds in the day room, she thought, sticking her bottom lip out in a pout. It helped me pass time back then, no matter how many times I read it. I sure could use it now. She traced the rock’s white veins, entranced by how smooth they were. The black patches were as rough as burnt toast._

_“You gotta be patient.” Daryl eyed her. “And stay focused. Won’t find ‘em right away.”_

_At the thought of canines, she remembered what Daryl raved about to the group on their first day together. “You think we’ll find a chupacabra out here?”_

_Daryl, stone-faced, glanced back at her. “Tryna make fun of me like the rest of the group?”_

_“I ain’t--no. I mean, if dead people can come back to life, then there’s gotta be one out here, like you said. I haven’t been outside of the city in twenty eight years, so I dunno what’s all out here.”_

_“Yeah, well this ain’t exactly the best time of your life to finally be out here.”_

_Ya know, if it wasn’t for what’s happenin’, I might’a never left that hospital, she thought. Not the best way to get a ticket out, but I’d have been a waste of life stuck within those white walls. I had no meaning, but like doc said, I can find it now. Whatever it may be. Harley perked up, her lips spreading into a thin smile. Maybe it’s adoptin’ all the homeless dogs! But speakin’ of doc, I hope what he said about those dead people is true. “My doc said the dead shouldn’t leave the city...do ya think that’s true?” she asked._

_“Better hope so,” Daryl said flatly._

_I guess I’ll try to hope harder then, she thought. What we have right now is neat. It’s like my first campin’ trip._

_Comfortable silence ballooned between them. As they passed through stretches of sunlight, its warmth settled on her like a weighted blanket. It comforted her. Weighted blankets had helped to ease her to sleep. Now all she had were assurances of safety by Dale perched on his RV with his gun, and the ominous absence of nature’s creatures in the night.  
The darkness didn’t make her as uneasy as the silence did. It was as if she was sitting in a deep, dry cave system. First she would hear her heartbeat, her blood pulse, the tendons in her neck creak, and then the wet squish of blinking her eyes. She didn’t like hearing how alive she was. She thought it unfair to her mother. _

_She approached one of the trees and placed her hand to the trunk. The bark was coarse and uneven like a scab. She could have easily ripped away the crumbly skin, but her childhood belief pressed a hand to her chest in warning. Don’t hurt it. She used to believe that every tree was the limb of an elephant, and was as wise as one. The elephant had gotten stuck in the ground and begged the earth to let go. It was only until they had struck a bargain; your limb and your blood, elephant, for me to grow my seeds, my children, in exchange you can walk to the watering hole and live._

_Harley patted the tree trunk and stepped away to catch up with Daryl. “Boy, cartoons don’t do the woods a lick o’ justice, and neither do those scented candles. It’s beautimous.” She bent down and picked up a scale-shaped leaf. Its shape and network of veins reminded her of how a child might draw a tree._

_Her eyes latched onto the back of Daryl’s head. The awkward silence was as uncomfortable as being inundated in water, fully clothed. “How’d ya learn to hunt?”_

_“Do you always play twenty questions?”_

_“Everyone has a story to tell.”_

_“Yeah, and boundaries.”_

_Tough cookie to crack, she thought, twirling the leaf between her fingers. She wandered to the side and waved through the taller grass. It tickled her arms where she had folded back her sleeves. She kept her head down, her low pigtails dangling like white tassels. A print in the ground made her stop. Its shape was reminiscent of a pair of large canine teeth. “Ooh, hey.” She looked up at Daryl as he faced her. “Is this a deer print?”_

_He approached her, his eyes trained to the dry, earth floor._

_Within the close proximity, she risked gazing at him while he checked the print. She noticed a mole near the corner of his thin lips, and how prominent the bags were under his left eye compared to the right. It’s always the little details that make up someone, she thought fondly._

_“Yeah. Good eye.” He didn’t meet her eyes as he moved to follow the tracks._

_She tailed him like a duckling, and decided to let the quiet of the woods speak._

_They ventured deeper into the belly of the woods where the grass was as lively as a Leprechaun’s jacket. It made for a thick quilt blanketing the ground, which prompted Daryl to show Harley other means of tracking other than by the hoof prints. In between lessons, she was drawn to the mammoth-sized trees, and Daryl would often watch without her knowing._

_To her inner child, the largest trees were once the wisest elephants. Their burly roots lay exposed, grasping at the earth’s flesh like fingers wrapped around a ball of dough. Their skin was tougher, a map of uneven lines and wrinkles akin to an elderly man’s forehead. Although aged itself, the trees’ leaves were as soft as old leather shoes.  
Daryl had stopped ahead, and Harley went to join him, her feet producing choruses of crunching from dead leaves and debris._

_He glanced her way, holding up his hand._

_She stopped. Did he find the deer? Another thought lurked in the question’s shadow. Ah, jeez, it better not be one of them dead things. Her heart drummed in her ears._

_Daryl motioned her over. “Stay quiet.”_

_When she joined his side, she stilled. Heat rushed to her bones, and her breaths became stalled._

_The doe’s head was bowed, ears attracted to nearby noises. It seemed alien with its elongated nose and eyes like blackcurrants, but Harley was mesmerized. It was a simple, common animal, but she found it more charming than the yellow flowers she used to bring to her room. Her first look at a deer, and she had power over it, for she knew its fate. “Do ya have to kill it?”_

_Daryl took aim. “We gotta.”_

_“Poor Bambi.”_

_He carried the doe’s body on his shoulders. It was as limp as a stringless puppet._

_Harley thought she would be unnerved by the glazed look in its staring eyes, but she couldn’t stop staring back. Even when she looked away, its eyes lingered in her vision like sunspots._

_“You really never seen a deer ‘till now?” Daryl asked._

_She was taken aback by the softness of his usually gruff tone. “I’ve seen ‘em on TV. I never really got to see much of anything outside of the city.”_

_She was answered by silence. She glanced at him, and his attention was locked to the ground. “Did I do good?”_

_He nodded, and when he looked back at her, his softness echoed in his eyes. “Yeah. Ya did good.”_

_She tore her gaze from his, a broad smile easing onto her mouth._

She watched as the deer moved away from the pond. Her heart was heavy as to what memories the animal didn’t know carried for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with another chapter! I'm sorry it's been such a long wait, I've been tangled in work :(
> 
> But I hope y'all enjoy chapter four!


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